


Old Habits

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Eventual Relationships, First Meetings, Internal Conflict, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: Delton is a thief from Starkhaven who ended up in the very wrong place at the very wrong time. Now stuck working for the Inquisition by order of Seeker Cassandra, he realises that his old habits from a life on the street die hard. A story in which The Iron Bull's uncanny observation skills are anything but expected. At the end of the day, there's just something unnerving about a massive, smiling Qunari who knows you were planning to rob one of his men.





	1. Old Habits

Delton sighed as he leaned back, the familiar sounds of the tavern singing to him like a lost-and-found lover. It was early evening; the meals had been doled out, the first couple of rounds completed, and that feather-breathed languor he knew so well had already begun to descend on the patrons of the Herald's Rest. Around him, smiles shifted seamlessly between bright and lazy, and both expressions came with the ease. After all, these were people lured into complacency by warm food and hearth. There was a sense of calm. Of safety. It was a strange, dangerous thing.

At the far right of the tavern, a figure shifted on his stool, red hair catching the lamplight. Delton had found his mark over an hour ago, his green eyes scanning the room with the detached precision of a long-lived thief. After all, these people were not his friends. He had left those far, far behind. _Have the rifts reached Starkhaven too? What if they're...?_

Delton shook his head, blinking a few times, forcing himself to focus. Now was not the time for that sort of thing. He never thought he was the sort to feel homesick _,_ of all things. Never would have imagined sitting there, pining like a dog for a familiar alleyway or rooftop.

It was almost funny.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and straining his ears, picking out fragments from the tavern's din. He went about it with the slow precision of a man sifting through shards of glass, looking for a very specific piece. Most of it was useless to him. There was the roar of the fire, occasionally splintering with a crack as one of the logs succumbed to the heat. There was the singer – _Maryden._ Sweet lass, if a bit repetitive, but he envied the way her fingers danced, coaxing gentle music from strings of gut. He had played, once. Then there was a booming laugh, deep and loud, followed by the rolling chorus of at least five other men. _Soldiers_.

 _They all have the same laugh,_ Delton mused as opened his eyes and raised his flagon to his lips, pretending to drink. _It reaches out - shakes you by the shoulders. Makes sure you know they’re there._

But none of those things were what he wanted, and he gave up on trying to isolate the sound, once again relying on his vision. With his eyes, he found his mark almost instantly, although it made everything a bit more obvious than he liked. The soldier was a young man, about the same height as Delton. Brown hair, deep skin, and a smile that was a little off-centre, as though he was always amused by something, but keeping it to himself. _Cremisius_ _Aclassi_. A Tevinter name, apparently. He hadn’t known many from that far north, but robbing a Vint would at least be something new. Delton was always interested in trying new things.

He watched as Cremisius grinned suddenly and leaned forward, slapping a cowled dwarf warmly on the back for a comment Delton didn’t quite catch. Both were part of a mercenary group – the Bull’s Chargers. A part of him knew the Tevinter was a risky mark, but he was desperate for a little familiar excitement. He could barely remember the last time he’d picked a pocket…

… Delton frowned, leaning forward a little, scanning the mercenary’s usual table at the tavern. Their leader wasn’t there. _Odd_ , Delton thought with a frown, and just as the realisation dawned on him, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from the direction of the bar. Instantly, Delton relaxed, slipping into the facade like a familiar set of clothes, although one ear remained trained on the Qunari’s movement behind him. _What did he want?_

“… Yeah, I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Delton glanced across as The Iron Bull leaned over, resting his massive forearms against Delton’s table. It was round and tall – the kind that could easily seat three friends in close proximity. But with the Qunari around, it suddenly felt inadequately small.

 _Delton_ felt inadequately small.

“Hmm?” Delton pitched the sound as a question, this time taking an actual drink of his ale as The Iron Bull settled on a stool beside him. He gestured towards the group of mercenaries – _his_ mercenaries – and as he responded, there was a distinct twist of amusement to the Qunari’s lips.

“Well for a start, our Krem hasn’t paid for a round since he signed up. Doesn’t carry coin.”

It took a significant amount of Delton’s willpower not to stiffen in surprise. Instead, he channelled the emotion into confusion, cocking his head to the side as he finally turned to regard his new companion. “That’s ah… interesting?”

Bull snorted. “Not exactly the word _I’d_ use, but yeah, you get used to it.” He raised his own tankard, taking a series of long, deep gulps as Delton tried to process what was going on. _Did he…? No. No - he couldn’t possibly know. How could he?_   Delton did have a tendency towards paranoia, after all, but he was aware of it. It was an old habit. Possibly a bad one, but it had kept him alive. That had to be worth something.

“Just trying to save you the disappointment, Red,” Bull continued, his one visible eye flicking across to meet Delton’s, twinkling in amusement. “Plus, our Krem has one hell of a right hook. Pretty much why I hired him in the first place.”

Delton could hardly believe it. That man – that hulking Qunari – _knew_. There was no point in even denying it anymore, and while a part of Delton was screaming to run, another part was impossibly curious. It was, as Sylda had always loved to point out, one of his many faults.

“All right, big fella,” Delton began, shaking his head and raising a hand in defeat. “How did ye know? Wasn’t talking to myself, was I?”

Bull smirked, but surprisingly didn’t seem angry, even after Delton’s confession. “Nah, nothing _that_ obvious. Little things. Stuff most people wouldn’t even notice. You’re pretty safe from anyone who isn’t a trained Ben-Hassrath.”

“ _Ben-Hassrath_?” Delton asked, doing his best to appear amicable while taking note of the nearest exits. The window would be the closest, but not the easiest to get to. He’d have to climb over some tables and hope no one grabbed him as he went. The door was a safer option, but he’d have to pass by the Chargers’ table to get to it…

He returned to the conversation as The Iron Bull nodded. “Yeah. We’re pretty much Qunari spies, to keep it simple.”

Delton froze, feeling his heart step sideways for a split second. _Spies? Did he really just admit to being a spy? Why would he…_

Ice-cold realisation crashed over Delton as every hair on his body suddenly stood on end.

_He told me because it doesn’t matter. He’s going to kill me._

The laugh Delton let out was more a reflex to silence, which a subconscious part of him knew he couldn’t let drag on without appearing obviously out-of-sorts. Then, he did the only thing he could think of. He played the part of dumb, arrogant, and a little bit drunk.

“Right, _aye_ …” he side-eyed the hulking Qunari, massive in both height and general _size_. “Sure. You’re a spy, and I’m the Divine. _Pleasure_.”

A part of Delton was surprised when The Iron Bull laughed, loud and deep, uncaring of whether or not the act drew attention from the people nearby. In fact, it _did_ draw attention – a few of the Chargers looked over almost reflexively, squinting across the tavern floor in the dim light. Delton swallowed dryly. _If he wants to kill me, shouldn’t he try to be a little more subtle about it?_   Unless it was some sort of signal to his men.

 _Shit_.

“The Divine, huh…?” Bull repeated, clearly amused, but Delton was convinced it was all just a morbid show to lull him into complacency. _He was good._

Which meant _this_ was bad.

Bull continued. “You know they don’t let men become Divine, right?”

Delton rolled his eyes. “Ye know spies are meant to be sneaky and blend in, don't ye?”

“Ha. Yeah. I suppose a thief like you would be more believable,” Bull admitted, and the way he announced it with such off-handed laxity was actually starting to annoy Delton. “But if you think about it, the less a spy _looks_ like a spy, the less likely they are to be found out.”

There was a kind of twisted logic behind it that Delton couldn’t completely dismiss. However, that didn’t mean he had to like it. Instead, he shook his head and shifted on his stool, hoping the act looked more natural than uncomfortable. Nervous. Maker, he was _nervous_.

_I have to get out of here…_

“And when the Inquisitor finds out? Ye got a plan?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from himself while he tallied his weapons with mounting dread. They were all small blades, easily hidden. Nothing of consequence. He was such an idiot - he hadn’t been expecting a fight. Given the Qunari’s size, it would be like trying to fend off a bear with a letter opener.

“Nah,” Bull said, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t exactly _thrilled_ about it, but she’s smart. Saw the value of having me and my men under her command. The value of _information._ That sort of thing.”

Delton blinked a few times, this time unable to fully mask his shock. “So… the Inquisitor _knows_? And she let ye stay anyhow?”

“Yep.”

The reply was so simple that it took Delton a few long seconds to process it properly. The Iron Bull finished off his tankard like it was the size of a thimble and lowered it to the table with a thud. That sound alone nearly made the already-skittish Delton jolt. _This is it, then. The niceties are over_.

“Y’know, you’ve got a pretty strong accent there, Red.” Bull said conversationally. “Where’s it from?”

Delton narrowed his eyes, the tension that had been lurking beneath his skin finally starting to break through. He didn’t have to play nice with this man anymore. The jig was up. They both knew it.

“Are ye goin' to pretend ye don't know?”

The look The Iron Bull gave him was surprisingly non-hostile. Then again, what could he expect from a self-confessed spy. _Actually… I don’t know what to expect from him_ , Delton realised with a pang of fear. Just the _idea_ of a self-confessed spy made no sense.

“No time for games, huh?” Bull said, then gave a one-shouldered shrug. “All right, sure. I know. You’re pretty far from Starkhaven, though. You alone?”

 _Not good, not good_ , Delton thought, his palms already starting to sweat. _How the hell am I going to convince him there are people who will notice me gone?_

He probably already knew the truth. It was pointless to attempt to trick him. But still… _he had to try._

“Me? Nah,” Delton said, trying to force the nervous edge out of his voice. “Came down with friends from the city. Most're out in the field, but some are about the keep, doin’ work for ye spymaster.”

Delton drank, and Bull eyed him slowly. Even though he eventually nodded his acceptance, Delton could see the truth. The Qunari didn’t believe him. Not for one measly second.

“All right,” Bull replied, sniffing and raising his flagon into the air. It was just a signal to Cabot, but for some reason, Delton flinched. _Just a little_. It didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah, okay, we’re going to need to work on that, Red.”

Delton’s breath felt heavy in his chest. “What?”

“When you get scared, you start shortening things,” Bull said matter-of-factly. “Dropping letters, skipping words – that sort of thing. You get jumpy. Pretty common, but you can do better." He met Delton's eye, his gaze piercing and keenly unsettling. "You can  _l_ _ie_ better.”

There was another burst of laughter from somewhere in the tavern, but it was dull to Delton, like a muted drum. It swam in his ears, but all he could hear clearly was the rapid thudding of his heart. What was he supposed to say? He had just pointed out that Delton was both a thief _and_ a liability. His target had been one of The Iron Bull’s own men. Delton _knew_ that the Qunari was a spy, but apparently he wasn't good enough to lie about it if asked.

He was a dead man. Some things - some rules - never really changed.

At that moment, Cabot came over, a fresh tankard of ale in each hand. He slapped them down on the table, clearly disapproving of being made to leave his bar, but Bull flashed him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Cabot.” He handed the dwarf a small pouch of coins – whether it was a tip or payment for the evening’s drinks, Delton didn’t know. The barkeep, however, seemed adequately mollified, and responded with a gruff nod. However, before Cabot could leave, Delton rose to his feet, making a show of stretching. A part of him knew he might have moved a little  _too_ quickly.

“Well, this has been a right pleasant chat,” he lied, grateful that his sudden movement had kept the dwarf in place. He didn’t want to be alone, isolated with no close witness. “But I'm goin' to take leave for tonight.”

“ _C’mon_ , Red!” Bull protested, gesturing at the pair of drinks on the table. “It’s still early! Have one more drink, on me. No strings attached.”

Delton cringed internally as Bull somehow answered his unvoiced concern, as though he could read his mind. However, Delton still shook his head, moving slowly around to the opposite side of the table, for what little distance it offered.

“Thank ye, but I'll pass,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. _For what it was worth._ “It was ah… good meetin’ ye.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Was it?”

Delton hesitated, but before he had to struggle too long finding an answer, Bull laughed brightly, teeth flashing against his grey skin.

“Ah, go on, then! No hard feelings.”

 _Weren’t there?_   Delton thought bitterly, and took a hesitant step in the direction of the door. However, The Iron Bull didn’t move – didn’t even make an _indication_ of moving.

_Okay…_

Delton gave him a final nod, then turned, putting his back to the Qunari. The whole time, his mind screamed at him, but he couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t possibly back all the way across the room just to keep the Qunari in his line of sight. Instead, he focused on the people in front of him. On _their_ eyes. If The Iron Bull made a move, they would react to it somehow. _That_ would be Delton’s warning signal. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but--

“Hey, Red.”

Delton froze, dread reaching out and seizing him by the throat. He turned his head, muscles tense, ready to make a break for it. He wasn’t far enough away yet – not far enough at all. The Qunari barely had to raise his voice for Delton to hear him. If the massive man just ignored the inconsequentially small table - just lunged forward…

“Look,” Bull continued, leaning slightly on his folded arms, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through Delton’s body. “I see you here, most nights. You should join me and my boys some time. We could use some new blood to liven things up a bit.” He smirked, but it wasn’t really mocking, or even insincere. “Don’t worry - I’ll tell Krem to be on his best behaviour. We'll ease you in to the arm-wrestles.”

 _New blood_ , Delton thought, turning the phrase over in his head sickly. _Was he trying to be funny?_

“Aye, sure… I’ll keep it to mind.” Delton replied slowly, and Bull just smiled and raised his mug, as though to toast him. With that, the Qunari rose to his feet, scooped up the second drink, and made his way towards Delton…

… then passed him, moving off and joining the rest of the Chargers. He was greeted by a chorus of voices that ranged from excited at seeing the spare drink to deeply sarcastic at Bull’s delayed return. Delton took his chance – seized it with both hands. He moved quickly through the crowd, weaving between tables and bodies, barely taking the time to draw breath. He didn’t start to run until he had slipped out of the tavern and down the side of one of the tall buildings. Once he was comfortably in the dark, he took off, leather shoes pounding against the cobblestones quietly but still _too loudly_. Too, too loud. He was being followed – he _knew_ he was. He had to be. It had been too easy to get away, and there was no way it should have been. He knew things he wasn’t supposed to. He was a thief. A liability.

Delton considered spending the night outside Skyhold’s walls, then dismissed it. At least here, at the heart of the Inquisition, they’d have to be careful. Have to think about how to dispose of his body.

But out in the forest?

Well, he didn’t want to make it _too_ easy for them.

In the end, Delton elected to spend the night near the tavern, watching the Chargers from a split in one of the building’s wooden boards. It was not ideal – the weather was freezing cold, and Delton hadn’t even dared to return to his rooms and fetch his thicker cloak.

But the night dragged on, and none of the mercenaries, or their leader, made any move to leave. They just drank. Laughed. Arm-wrestled. Played cards. Did impressions of each other. Requested songs. Tipped the serving staff. Maker, it was all so innocent that Delton couldn’t help but be suspicious. At first, he suspected the Qunari already had spies following him, but hours passed and nothing happened to confirm it. Eventually, as the moon began to dip low in the sky, Delton knew he had to make a decision. He was exhausted, startling sometimes as his grip began to slip. His fingers were numb from where they clung to the ledge of an upper-storey widow, but were dangerously devoid of pain. He couldn’t stay there any longer – not without risking a bad fall.

Eventually, Delton clamoured down, every muscle in his body stiff with disuse. When he returned to his room, he went a long, convoluted way. If someone was following him, he had no intention of making it easy for them. Yet, by the time he collapsed onto his bed, a kind of dull acceptance had finally washed over him. He had spent the whole night on high alert. He had watched, waited. Plotted. There was nothing else he could do, short of abandoning the Inquisition in a flash of fear. Even then, what’s to say they wouldn’t just drag him back? He was technically the Seeker’s prisoner, after all, serving out his sentence as a soldier.

No. If he was going to be killed, then there was nothing more he could do to prevent it. Delton wasn’t one to easily accept his fate, but if that Qunari suddenly appeared in his room right that second, there was really no fighting it. Deep down, in his heart of hearts, knew that to be true.

Of course, that still didn’t stop him from taking the usual precautions. It didn’t keep him from falling asleep with a dagger in hand, his back pressed firmly to the wall. It didn’t keep him from startling at every little sound in the night. It also didn’t stop him from placing an array of bottles in front of every possibly entry point to his room. Just in case.

_Old habits._


	2. Saving Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few days, and Delton's finally decided he can't just hide away forever. However, his evening doesn't exactly go to plan, and some instincts are stranger than others...

_The longer I stay away, the more obvious it is._

Delton sighed, rubbing his eyes roughly with his fingertips as though the action could chase away his problems. He was being ridiculous. Deep down, he knew it. It had been three days already and as far as he could tell he wasn’t _dead_ , although the distinction was becoming less and less obvious of late. Most days he felt like a puppet, dragged along by the strings. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was at least an _important_ puppet, but he didn’t even have that going for him. As far as he could tell, the Seeker had forgotten all about him, and fair enough, she had a lot going on. A part of Delton was rather pleased about it, actually. It would make slipping away that much easier, when the time came.

 _Why haven’t I left already, then? I should be half way across Ferelden by now._  

Delton slowly turned the words over in his head. Realistically, he knew he owed the Inquisition nothing. Sure, the Seeker had _offered_ him a place as a soldier, but he had only accepted because the alternative was having his hands cut off for stealing. That seemed a little… _archaic_. Their spymaster, Leliana, had suggested it. _Charming woman_. However, there he was, walking across along the edge of the courtyard, the symbol of the Inquisition emblazoned on the lapel of his coat. If someone had told him a year ago that he would end up working for one of the biggest divine institutions in Thedas, he would have bet his life to the contrary then robbed them while they slept.

Well… the joke was on him, apparently.

The tavern had made it easier though, for the most part, even back in Haven. It was simple. Familiar. Delton could slip in and out of conversations, steered by his ear as it caught interesting snippets of chatter, moving between tables with the subtlety of flowing water. It was a good way to find out information. That and, given that he had no actual place in the Inquisition pecking order, it was often the _only_ way. Whatever inhibitions might have been present during the day were quickly drank away come evening, which made Delton’s work as easy as cutting a purse. Actually, it had often involved cutting a purse. Or three, if it was a good night.

But after Haven, that deeply entrenched desire to scrimp and steal had largely abandoned him. It was a part of him that he knew was there - he could _see_ it coiled up inside him - but whenever he reached out, it pulled away sharply, as though Delton’s touch was an open flame. It left him feeling naked and uncertain, which were two things that, combined, definitely did not appeal to him. One or the other was typically more than enough. But despite the absence of his instincts, the Herald’s Rest had become like a second home. It was somewhere he could go to drown out the low voice in his head. The slow twist in his gut.

 _I should never have left_.

Swallowing, Delton forced his feet to keep moving across the cobblestones. It was early evening, but he knew that certain people wouldn’t show up at the tavern until a bit later, and he intended to be long gone by then. This was okay. This was _good_. He’d show up, save a little face, then make up some excuse to leave. If he even needed one. Maybe that was a little presumptuous of him. It wasn’t like he actually had a wealth of friends watching out for him. Shit, he didn’t even have _one_.

“Hey, Red!”

Delton froze mid-step, them immediately forced his body to relax as he turned towards the familiar voice. He tossed a smile, hoping it could mask the way his stomach had dropped to its knees, and fought the urge to run as the massive figure made its way towards him. Iron Bull’s mouth was already curved into an amicable half-smile as he approached, but he pulled up short. About five yards from Delton, the Qunari came to a sudden, twinging halt, making a show of grunting and stretching out his leg.

“Cramp,” he explained after a moment, even wincing a little to really sell it. As much as Delton wanted to roll his eyes at the display, he forced himself to look concerned. To look like he’d fallen for it. It wasn’t exactly a new trick. He’d pulled it plenty of times, although typically with a worse injury. Pity made for some extra scraps of food, if you picked the right people.

“Maybe ye’d be better off sittin’?” he suggested, and Bull nodded stiffly. With an explosive sigh, he tipped back until his rump met the cobblestones with a dull thump.

“Ah… good idea,” Bull groaned, repositioning so that he could rest an arm over his bent knee while his free hand worked on rubbing his ‘cramped’ calf muscle. “Y’know, Krem keeps saying I’m too old for all this mercenary work. How about we keep this between you and me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Delton was happy to pretend he had a say in the matter if Bull was. He nodded, rubbing his nose, using the gesture to distract from the fact that his eyes were already scanning the area. It was… completely open. He had the whole courtyard, plus a gratuitous amount of alleys, at his disposal. There were still some people around, although not many, given the time of day. On top of that, there were more exit routes than he could toss a coin at, and he had collected a decent amount of coins, despite not being officially _paid_.

Delton’s gaze slipped back to Bull’s form. The Qunari was still sitting on the ground, watching him quietly, working the ‘cramp’ out of his leg. _What was his game?_

“So…” Bull began after a moment, and Delton raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t seen you around the tavern lately. Finally got tired of the watered down ale?”

Delton flushed a little, but covered it with a light laugh. “Aye, well… been kept busy, these past days. Ye Leliana's been runnin' me ragged. Have barely had time to think yet alone drink.”

“Huh. Tell me about it,” Bull snorted, gesturing over his shoulder with his massive horns. “They've got me out training some new recruits. And I thought I’d only have to worry about keeping _my_ boys up to scratch.”

“That or they just want ye to scare ‘em stiff. Try stretching that leg out,” Delton said, the two thoughts seeming to run together as he watched the Qunari work his calf muscle with his large hands. Bull let out a low, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

“Right. _Or that_ ,” he agreed, then did as he was told, stretching out his leg. He got about half-way through the act before cringing again, although not quite as obviously. _Huh_ , Delton thought, some of his scepticism fading a little. _Maybe he isn’t just having me on…_

“Should put something hot on it,” Delton continued distractedly, gesturing to Bull’s leg. Bull raised an eyebrow.

“Had them before, huh?”

Delton shrugged, the painful memories of being curled up in an alley trying not to make too much noise still vivid, despite the distance he had put between himself and Starkhaven.

“Aye. Most times it meant I needed salt.”

Bull nodded, although something about his expression seemed almost approving. “I’ll keep that in mind, Red. You might be more useful than you look.”

“Hey, I’m plenty useful,” Delton retorted, although not angrily. For some reason, he had a smirk on his face. Maybe it was because the temporarily crippled Qunari suddenly didn’t seem quite so intimidating. “I just prefer to keep to myself. Makes things more interesting.”

“Fair enough,” Bull said, then hesitated, frowning as a pair of loud voices carried through the air. They seemed to be coming from around the other side of a nearby building, just out of sight. He swore, shaking his horned head. “Ah… _shit_.”

“What?” Delton asked, craning his neck in the direction of the sound. Bull sighed.

“ _Krem_.”

The sound continued, growing louder, and now Delton could definitely make out one of the voices. It was indeed Bull’s lieutenant, talking to another soldier. His laugh was unmistakable. Delton glanced towards the seated Qunari, who appeared to still be trying to stretch out his cramped leg, then back to the building, brow furrowing slightly. _Why was he…?_

Then, just as Krem’s voice signalled he was coming around the corner, Delton’s instincts kicked in.

 

* * *

 

Bull watched, masking his surprise as the red-haired man suddenly dropped to the ground beside him, crossing his legs and pulling something out of his pocket. Most people in Bull’s situation would probably be concerned by that kind of sudden movement. But Bull? _Nah_. It wasn’t that he was cocky. He just had a feeling Red wasn’t going to be a threat; at least, not right then. He didn’t seem like the sort of person who would kick a man when he was down. Going by the way he’d flinched a few nights ago, Bull figured he’d seen more than his fair share of that.

The sound of metal on stone drew Bull’s attention, and he was surprised to see a handful of coins littering the ground between him and Delton. Almost instantly, Delton started picking them up again, talking as he went.

“All right, so ye balance a coin on each knuckle, then flip your hand and try to catch them. If ye get them all, you’re safe. Drop them, and your opponent gets to fire the dropped coins at your knuckles, then line their pockets.”

“Huh. Sounds dangerous,” Bull said, slipping into his part seamlessly. He could see the flash of approval in Red’s eyes, but it passed quickly. Then, the man did the trick, flipping his hand over so fast that Bull almost missed the gesture completely. In half a second, all four coins sat snugly in Delton’s palm, metal clinking gently as he flashed a half-smile and held them out to Bull. _Well… at least he was smart enough to pick a game he was good at._

Bull snorted and accepted them, then followed Delton’s cue as he made a show of ‘noticing’ Krem.

Bull’s lieutenant was watching them both with a look of mute surprise, his eyebrows raised. Krem wasn’t really one for subtlety – not anymore. Didn’t have to hide how he felt, or what he was thinking. Bull was glad for that. It’d been hard work, convincing Krem in the first place.

“Uh… having fun down there, chief?” Krem asked, clearly fighting back a laugh as his mouth quirked into a smirk. He nodded to the soldier accompanying him, and the man returned the gesture before continuing on towards the Herald’s Rest.

“Who me?” Bull said innocently, jostling the coins in his hand as the other soldier passed. “Just learning some tavern games from Red here. _Culture_ , Krem. You should be happy.”

“Oh yeah, sure. I’m real happy for you,” Krem replied, and fixed Bull with a slow, knowing look. One that practically screamed _red heads, huh?_ However, Krem quickly turned his attention over to Delton, who was, surprisingly, toeing the line between a blank expression and a smile. Just seeing the man struggle not to laugh was, in Bull’s opinion, a minor victory. After all, just a few days ago, he had nearly bolted in terror when Bull sat next to him.

“You know, you could play your new tavern game…” Krem trailed off, then gestured towards the familiar building across the courtyard. “… _at the tavern_.”

“It’s easier tossin’ coins around out here. More room. Ye drop ‘em a lot at first,” Delton said with a nonchalant shrug, although Bull could read a new – or maybe _old_ \- stiffness to the man’s movements. “Besides, tavern folk’d keep snatchin’ the dropped ones.”

_He’s shortening his words again…_

“Right. Sure,” Krem said, cocking an eyebrow but choosing not to argue any further.

 _That’s it, Krem…_ Bull thought, eying his lieutenant. _Now, just head inside…_

“Mind if I join in?”

Bull wanted to sigh in frustration, but he bottled up the urge. _Game over_. Out of the corner of his eye, Bull saw Delton stiffened slightly as Krem lowered himself down to the ground with a soft grunt. Bull knew what would happen. It was just a matter of waiting for it. It wouldn’t take long…

“Well, as much as I’d love to stick around, I need to be headin' off,” Delton said, getting to his feet with too-practiced ease, but not even bothering to dust the dirt off his pants. "Next time?”

Krem, a little taken aback by the red-head’s sudden desire for departure, still gave him a polite nod in response. _That’s it, Krem_ , Bull thought fondly. _Don’t let anyone shake you._

“Alright. I’ll hold you to that, Red,” Krem said as he raised a hand in farewell, but Delton was already moving across the courtyard, his hands thrust into his pockets. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be heading to the tavern that evening.

There was silence for a moment, then Bull let out the sigh he had been holding in, feeling the air rush from his lungs like the last emptying pump of a bellows. Krem’s gaze flicked across to him, and the lieutenant finally let his concern show.

“Sorry, chief,” he said, looking aptly penitent, although confusion was still clear in his eyes. “Was it something I said?”

Bull shook his head. He wasn’t mad at Krem, after all. It was always going to be a bit of a gamble.

“Nah… odds just weren’t in his favour anymore.”

Krem frowned slightly, his gaze flicking down to the coins in Bull’s hand. “What? You mean the game?”

Again, Bull shook his head, curling his fingers around the metal pieces. For a moment, he watched quietly as Delton’s receding form finally melted into the inky distance. He was moving fast, but making it look so… natural. Maybe disappearing really was just second nature to him.

“No, not the game,” Bull said simply, the words straining slightly as he hauled himself to his feet. Krem also got up, and together, the pair began to make their way towards the Herald’s Rest.

“Then… what?” Krem pressed, which brought a private but proud smile to Bull’s face. _That’s it. Don’t let people hide things from you. Not even me._

“We outnumbered him, Krem,” Bull replied, reaching out to grasp his lieutenant by his shoulder. “If it came down to a fight, he’d be in trouble.”

The reply seemed to mollify Krem, but only for a moment. Then, that frown returned, and Bull sighed tiredly.

“ _What_?”

“It’s just… I couldn’t see him beating _you_ in a fight either, chief,” Krem said as he reached out to push open the door of the tavern with one gauntleted hand. “I mean, you’re what… twice his weight?”

Just a few steps behind him, Bull chuckled.

“That meant to be an insult? Come on – I’ve heard better from Grim.”

Krem rolled his eyes and stepped into the tavern, moving in quickly so that Bull could get through the door before they let out all the heat. Once the door swung closed and the familiar scent of the evening meal filled their noses, Bull finally answered Krem’s question.

“Let’s just say I found a way to even out the playing field.”

Glancing back, Krem quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing. Sometimes Bull assumed his lieutenant just _didn’t want to know_.

As they headed towards their usual table, Bull reached into his pocket, tucking away the four coins where he wouldn’t be likely to go for them after a few drinks. After all, returning them would be his next excuse to get Red talking. 

_Why had he done it, though?_

Even to Bull, who considered himself to be pretty good at reading people, that particular move left him at a loss. Why would he just sit there and start pretending they were meant to be down on the ground? It was... strange, even for Red.

“I know what you’re doing, chief,” Krem said suddenly as they sat down. Bull glanced up, head tilted questioningly, and Krem continued. “At this rate, you’re going to run out of room.”

“Oh?” Bull asked, feigning ignorance, and Krem just laughed, shaking his head and tapping the wooden surface pointedly.

“At your _table_.”

Glancing around at his Chargers, who were finally starting to wander over and take their respective seats, Bull felt his mouth curve into a smile. It was quiet. Proud. He hadn’t done much good in his life, but this? This was something he had done right.

“ _Our_ table, Krem,” Bull corrected, motioning to Cabot for the first round. “And relax. We can always pull up another.”


End file.
